The White House, Washington D.C., 2010

Irene softly rapped on the door to the Lincoln Bedroom. She waited patiently for a few moments and then knocked again. "Dr. Suresh," she said through the door. "It's Mrs. Petrelli."

The door opened, and Mohinder Suresh stood in the doorway. He was dressed in a pair of khaki slacks and an un-tucked white shirt with thin blue stripes on it. He wore a pair of round glasses that tended to slip down his nose every few minutes; he looked like he hadn't shaved in a few days. "Mrs. Petrelli," he said with a smile. "I wasn't expecting to see you." His teeth were almost perfectly white, a sharp contrast to his chocolate brown skin. "I would have been more appropriately dressed if I had known you were coming to see me."

"This is merely a social call. You don't need to worry about the formalities when you're with me." Irene smiled back at him. "May I come in?"

Mohinder nodded and opened the door wider to let her through. Two Secret Service agents planted themselves on either side of the door in case of an emergency. Irene shrugged her blue suit jacket off her shoulders and laid it on a velvet-cushioned armchair close by.

The Lincoln Bedroom was—Irene thought—the loveliest of all the guest rooms in the White House; if she had her way, this would be her room instead of Mohinder's. It was kept as authentic as possible in spirit with the couple that had lived there. The walls were a lovely shade of cream that complimented the bold colors of the bedspread on the canopy bed. The room itself was very spacious and comfortable to suit anyone's fancy. A large window in the far wall allowed the occupant a spectacular view of Washington D.C.

On this particular afternoon, however, the curtains were only partially open and the bed had not been made. Mohinder never really was too concerned about being neat and tidy. Irene sat in a chair close to the bed and crossed one leg over the other; she adjusted her blue skirt so that she wasn't showing so much leg. An open laptop computer sat on a mahogany-stained wooden desk a few feet to Irene's left. Before saying another word to her, Mohinder went to the computer and closed it, as if to keep her prying eyes out of it.

"So," he sat down in the rolling desk chair and faced her. "To what do I owe this sudden visit?"

"Can't a girl just drop in to say 'hello'?" Irene asked with a half-smile.

"In a world full of ulterior motives, a visit like that is very rare." His face immediately sobered, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why are you really here, Irene?"

Irene sighed and looked away. "I understand why you don't trust me, Mohinder, but—"

"I do trust you, Irene," he interjected. "But I'm sure how much I can trust you anymore. The last I remember, you were in quite a hurry to leave—without so much as a goodbye, I might add." There was a hint of bitterness in his voice; Irene inwardly cringed, knowing that she was the cause of it. Without realizing it, she had done the same thing to Mohinder that Gabriel had done to her just a few years ago; it had seemed like an eternity since that had happened. In fact, she had almost forgotten about it.

"You don't know the whole story, Mohinder," she retorted, trying not to get defensive.

"Then tell me," he replied, getting quite defensive himself.

"I…I can't," she whispered.

Mohinder's face became more irritated, and his words became more animated. "Was it me? Was it you? Well, obviously, it was another man because you married the President a week afterwards. A week, Irene! Did you even bother to try to get over me first?"

"This was a mistake," Irene muttered angrily and got up to pick up her jacket. Mohinder stood and gently grabbed her arm to keep her from leaving.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Now isn't the time to talk about those things."

Irene took a deep breath and decided to change the subject, though she wished so badly to tell him the truth. "No, I'm the one who should be apologizing." She gently pulled her arm away from him and draped her jacket over it. "You were right; I wasn't here just to say hello."

"Then what do you want?"

There were several things she could have said, but she pushed them all to the back of her mind. Mohinder looked away and covered his mouth to hide his smirk, realizing what he had just asked. Irene laughed softly and tucked a strand of brown hair behind her ear; it had escaped from the tight French pleat on the back of her head. Jeez, those pins hurt her scalp. At least both of them were smiling again. It was hard not to—around Mohinder, at least.

"I just wanted to know how your research was going," she said finally.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Is that all? Oh, well, you should have said so."

"Well, I didn't want to pry."

"It's no problem," he said with a smile. "My research is going…just fine. I'm making a lot of progress."

"Mohinder," Irene smirked. "You've always been a terrible liar, and working for the President hasn't made that any better." She took a step closer to him and added quietly, "I have the security clearance, but no one will bother to tell me anything. If I'm going to help Nathan run the country, I should probably be informed about most of what's going on. Don't you think so?" She lifted her eyebrows and pressed her lips together to emphasize her point.

Mohinder looked away and gently scratched his beard. "To be honest," he replied softly. "I'm not getting anywhere." He sighed and massaged the back of his neck. "I just don't know how to tell Nathan."

"I have full confidence in you, Mohinder," she replied, matching the softness of his voice. Their faces were mere inches apart; tension hung thick between them. Without thinking, Irene kissed him lightly on the lips. She quickly pulled away and straightened. "I'm sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have done that." She hastily went to the door and left the room without looking back.

"Irene!" Mohinder called, but she ignored him.

She walked swiftly past the SS agents who started following her to her office. She gently rubbed her temples and went inside without a word to anybody. People passed her in the hallway, but thought better of saying anything to her. She closed the door to her office and locked it behind her. She plopped into her desk chair and swore under her breath. This was going to be a long day.